


A Paean before the Requiem of the New Millennium

by CaroBertaud



Series: The Truth Our Eyes Have Meant to Say for Years [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode: s07e07 Orison, Episode: s07e10 Sein Und Zeit, Episode: s07e11 Closure, Episode: s07e13 First Person Shooter, Episode: s07e17 All Things, Episode: s07e19 Hollywood A.D., Episode: s07e22 Requiem, Episode: s08e11 The Gift, Episode: s08e13 Per Manum, F/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaroBertaud/pseuds/CaroBertaud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder's thoughts from Millennium's first (official) kiss to Requiem's anguished ending. Canon.</p><p>I didn't tag all episodes from season 7, but there is a bit of each one, plus those from season 8 that really took place in the 7th. It's not rated M until chapter 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Michelle, you're my rock!

It was only a sweet kiss really. The kind of kiss one gave to a very special friend under the impulse of the moment on a very special occasion as was the New Year. It was gentle, affectionate, light as a feather and with no ulterior motive than the exchange of a gift.

 

      “The world didn't end,” I said.

      She didn't reply blindly; she pondered my words with careful attention, looked straight into my eyes and then the corners of her lips stretched into a smile. “No, it didn't.”

 

She knew. She knew what I had meant to say.

And after over seven years of knowing each other, really it wasn't that awkward. It felt right and natural in the moment. The countdown had reached zero and Scully and I were staring (thoughtfully, I believe) at those couples happily kissing on TV. We had had our share of difficult times together in seven years, a lot more than the happy moments we deserved. This was only a brief blissful moment. A shared self-indulgence for a stolen quiet pause at the end of a long day. A gift of tenderness, wrapped in a warm blanket of hope.

 

Have you ever wondered and pondered the words? You _give_ a kiss to someone. You can plant it, you can steal it, you can share it, no matter how it happens you never lend a kiss; you give it. There's no taking it back.

 

I wrapped my unharmed arm over her shoulders and led her outside the hospital, lightheartedly. _No take backs._

 

We went back to our normal selves after that normal kiss. I mean, it was a normal kiss, I guess. I didn't know how Scully had felt about it, that wasn't the kind of thing we openly discussed, but we had kissed many times in the past (only not on the mouth) and this one didn't seem any less natural.

We had each retreated to our homes that night after midnight. Yet there was no doubt in my heart that I loved her and that, if time permitted, I would be waiting for her as long as she needed, until realization would bring a flush to her face too. I didn’t want to get my hopes too high but within the months that followed, I was under the impression that Scully was looking more closely into my actions.

 

Like that one time in Pittsfield, Virginia where we were investigating those kids who had the ability to move faster than the eye could perceive. When that girl bumped into my shoulder at the sheriff station, I turned around to look at her. It’s the most natural thing to do: you hit or get hit and you want to see by whom, to see if it had been on purpose or God knows what, for whatever reason we turn around. So, I did, I turned around and I merely glimpsed the girl (scout's honor!) but Scully reproachfully looked at me as if I had checked her out. And then, later on, she lightly played with my tie and asked, “Mulder, rather than spirits, can we at least start with Tony's friends? Please … _just … for me?”_ For a second there, I swore she was flirting with me.

 

And what about the time in Chicago where we were looking for the Luckiest Man in the Universe? We may have found his glass eye but it was what I saw in _her eyes_ that put a smile to my face for the rest of case. _Cause and effect._

Scully had her eyes on me when I tried to be the self-confident man I wasn't and I crawled under that leaking sink. She was charmed by my almost-childish obliviousness of plumbing techniques. Who knows which way is clockwise anyway!? (Ha! You checked!) Anyway, her mouth twitched before she delicately hid it with her hand, but I _knew_ she was fighting a smile. Why bother hiding her mouth if she cared to let her never-lying eyes accessible to us mortals? Eyes smile too, Scully. Yours do, in any case. And when they shined like they did now, they were of the most sincere and purest emotion of delight.

She thought I was adorable, I was as certain about that as doubts persisted regarding her later comment, “Maybe everything does happen for a reason. Whether we see it or not.” Had that been intended for me? And if so, what? What had been the cause leading to which effect? I had no idea what she had meant. If she was talking about fate, I believed in fate. Well, I was not really a good test for that because I believed almost anything. But, if not fate, you had to wonder though how two persons different in so many ways could have such a strong connection together. I knew I wasn’t fooling myself thinking that Scully had feelings for me; whether it was love of not, there was an undeniable bond between us. If there really was a Luckiest Man in the Universe, it had to be me.

But in any case, what _I do know for sure,_ though, is that it's around that time I started to wonder if she wanted what I wanted. Especially when the next case we were assigned to was the escape of the son of a bitch who had abducted Scully five years earlier, Donnie Pfaster.


	2. A dark night

_Someone to count on in a world of change_  
_Here I am, stop where you’re standin’_  
_What you need is a lover, a man to take over_  
_Oh girl, don’t look any further_

 _Strange, when you think of the chances_  
_That we’d both be in a state of mind_  
_Too cool to be careless, lookin’ for the right thing_  
_Oh baby, don’t look any further_

 _Tonight, tonight, we’re gonna taste a little, paradise_  
_Rock you all night long, baby all night long_  
_Daylight, daylight_  
_I’ll still be lookin’ in your ebony eyes_

 _And we’ll go on and on, and on_  
_Day-o day-o, mombajee ai-o, well, don’t look any further_  
_Day-o day-o, mombajee ai-o, well, don’t look any further_

 _Someone to count on in a world of changin’_  
_Here I am, stop where you’re standin’_  
_What you need is a lover, you need a lover_  
_To love you all over, love me all over_

_Oh baby, don’t you look any further, further, don’t look any further, don’t look any further_

_Tonight, tonight, we’re gonna taste a little, paradise_  
_Rock you all night long, rock you all night long_  
_Daylight, daylight_  
_I’ll still be lookin’ in your ebony eyes_

 _And we’ll go on and on, and on_  
_Day-o day-o, mombajee ai-o, say it, don’t look any further_  
_Day-o day-o, mombajee ai-o, well, don’t look any further, don’t you ever look_  
_Day-o day-o, mombajee ai-o, don’t look any further, further_  
_Day-o day-o, mombajee ai-o, don’t look any further, further_  
_Day-o day-o, mombajee ai-o, don’t look any further_

 

That song still visits me sometimes in my worst nightmares. I would have liked to actually listen to its words and ask myself how they could have meant anything to Scully or to me, but it just freaked and still freaks me out and I hope to never hear it ever again. The idea itself that Scully heard it three times on that same day whereas she had last heard it in her teenage years gave me a chill.

 

I should have stopped her when I had the chance. She should have taken that note into account. _Don’t look any further._ But then again, maybe he’d have found her anyway. No, wait, _I_ should have been more attentive to what Scully was telling me about that song, but instead I joked about it. A make-out song? You idiot! I should never have left her out of my sight, I should have followed her everywhere like her own shadow. It would have been hard convincing her of that, if not impossible, because she would hardly ever allow it. And I understood that — in most situations anyway. She wanted to be strong and self-dependent, and I respected that. I esteemed her for that. But sometimes I wished she would just consider that _I_ was worried and _I_ needed to be close to her.

When I heard the song, setting the alarm on my clock, it didn’t really mean anything that I could comprehend, but just to be on safe side I called her. There was no answer. Would things have been different if I had rushed to her place instead of thinking about whatever the hell I was thinking about? What did I figure she was doing that she couldn’t answer the phone? Why had I been so slow to make a decision? What a dork. And what must she have gone through to resort to such desperate measures as to seek revenge and shoot the man in cold blood.

 

I took her home with me that night.

At first, she remained strong. Stronger than ever as a matter of fact. As if nothing had happened, nothing had been broken. I even doubted that she took an actual shower; she probably cleaned her face, wiped the blood away, rubbing so roughly that she bled some more, and I believed that she had been done.

I offered her my bed, I offered to order take out, but all she could bear to do was sit on my couch in suspended silence. Unbroken. The perfect flawless Scully mask. Maybe she didn’t even want me here with her, but there was not one chance I would have left her alone. She didn’t need (or didn’t want, to be accurate) to talk and we barely did talk. As for me, I wanted to grab her by the arms and shake her until she finally broke. Shake the pain away. The harm. Until she finally let it out. Until she finally cried. I recalled our New Year’s Eve kiss and what it had meant to me; a gift out of the madness, out of the doomed path of our intervened cursed lives. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and cover her mouth with mine like a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, blowing air in her lungs and bringing her back to life, show her that she was alive, show her that I was happy she was alive, and restore some humanity in her glacial body.

Gee, she looked so cold. She was so hard on herself, profoundly questioning everything that she knew to be familiar and doubting all the beliefs she had always carried as a necklace. It was as if she wanted to bury herself inside her loneliness where she would probably have fallen as deep as I had in my darkest times. She was losing herself and dangerously edging somewhere out of reach. I couldn’t see her face as I was sitting toward the back of the couch while she had moved to its edge.

 

      “Talk to me, Scully.” I gently ticked her shoulder.

      “There’s nothing to say,” she breathed after a moment, barely turning her face to me. “I’m fine, Mulder.”

      I slid closer to her and I mirrored her; I clasped my hands together, tucked them between my thighs and I gently pressed my shoulder against hers. “I think that’s what you said to me five years ago after he attacked you.” Her eyes were empty, showing no emotion but coldness. She was staring straight ahead at the coffee table as if she was under deep hypnosis or … dead. “But then you had cried in my arms,” I whispered.

      She looked at me and didn’t break. “I was younger, inexperienced and weaker.”

      “The ability to cry has nothing to do with weakness.” She didn’t say anything and her eyes returned to the coffee table. I wanted to kick it out of her sight but I kept a calm voice, focusing on trying to resuscitate her. “And I won’t think any less of you if you do. On the contrary.” Silence still. “You’ve been through a traumatic event and —”

      “Mulder, I’m fine.”

      You are everything _but_ fine, Scully. “No, in fact you want to be strong but you’re in shock and denial. And it’s okay to allow yourself to break. You know you’re safe with me.” As she still didn’t feel like joining the conversation, I kept doing it for her. “Not so long ago, you said to me that everything happens for a reason. Remember?” No answer. “Scully?”

      “Vaguely.”

      “I think you were right,” I said softly, pausing a moment, trying in vain to pique her curiosity. “If you hadn’t put an end to it, _you know_ he would have killed again. You helped dozens of women, if not more, Scully. And if you hadn’t killed him and if I’d found you hurt, God knows I would have pulled the trigger.”

      “If ifs and ands were pots and pans, Mulder …”

 

I had known below-zero winters warmer than her. We were making no progress. But I wasn’t ready to give up on her. I rummaged through my brain; I knew I had read something, something that could speak to her, mean something to her. It took me a little while but it wasn’t like she had anything better to do than to stay silent as a grave and to stare at my damn table.

I took her wrist and wrapped my whole hand around the scar that the rope had left there and then I looked at her. She averted my eyes, ashamed, so I cupped her face with my other hand and turned her face to me.

 

      _“From now on, don’t let anyone trouble me with these things. For I bear on my body the scars that show I belong to Jesus,”_ I recited. “Galatians, I believe,” I smiled softly, “but don’t ask me what paragraph.”

      “How do you …?” She smiled weakly.

      “I’ve um, educated myself a little since I’ve known you. It was only fair. But don’t give me a test just yet, I haven’t memorized all of it.”

 

She smiled with a sigh and I gently pulled her into my arms.

 

      “There is no evil in you, Scully. No evil was at work in you,” I whispered in her hair, my hands flat and unmoving on her back to secure her against me. “Anyone in your situation would have reacted the same way that you did. Be glad that you’re alive. Be glad that the son of a bitch is dead and won’t harm anyone any longer. _Thanks to you.”_

 

I pulled back to look at her; she was gritting her teeth and breathing in fast and shallow breaths.

      “I don’t want to sound stupid for stating the obvious but I want you to hear it, so I’m gonna say it anyway: I am glad that you’re alive, Scully. I am glad that you’re here with me right now. Because the second I came into your apartment tonight I wasn’t sure that would ever happen again. You and I sitting on that goddamn couch. And it freaked the hell outta me. Don’t lose yourself in the darkest places. I’ve been there; there’s nothing there. You’re alive and you’re safe.” She was having a hard time keeping eye contact with me, struggling against her sorrow and refusing to let her tears fall. “Talk to me, Scully, tell me how you feel.”

 

She withheld her words and I felt she would be more comfortable saying them to my back. So, I hugged her tightly again, pleading with her again to talk to me. After a moment, she started to speak, very slowly, like a child learning to put one foot steadily before the other.

 

      “I feel exhausted and … empty. I feel angry and sad. Hurt. Wounded. I hate myself for having pulled the trigger. For being so … weak and blinded by hatred.” I wanted to disagree but I chose to let her let it out thoroughly and she continued. Her body was starting to tremble in my arms. “I feel like I have betrayed my own beliefs. I feel like I can’t look at myself in a mirror ’cause my own reflection disgusts me. I feel like I’m being judged … That’s … how I feel.”

      I tightened my grip on her and kept whispering in her back. “You say weak where I see strength. You say betrayal where I see courage. Scully, the only one judging you is you.” I felt a hot drop on my neck. Finally, she was crying. Silently. I didn’t look at her but I softened my voice even more. “Let the door open to the possibility that God really was at work in you. And let me assure you again that no evil was, Scully. You are nothing like that son of a bitch. And please, don’t let me search my mind for a passage from the Bible that shows you how much a person of heart you are. You have a heart of _gold_ , Scully,” I gently pulled back and took her face in my hands, “and I want you to find the strength of your beliefs that you’ve always had and to fight for them. Don’t hate or distrust your heart. Free yourself from blame and guilt. Because I have no doubt, _not one doubt, Scully,_ and I forbid you to have any, that you are the purest person I’ve ever known, with your heart in the right place.” I thumbed tears away from her cheeks. “Well, you’re a doctor, you’re aware it’s really on the left side but you know what I mean.”

 

She snorted with laughter and tucked her head on my chest, crying hard. I cupped the back of her head and stroked her hair, swallowing hard for feeling her alive again.

I leaned backward and crushed my back into the cushions with her in my arms. I smoothed her hair as she laid her head on my chest, weeping, and then I gently rubbed her shoulders and back. At one point, her breathing evened and her cries lessened to none. She moved and curled on her side into a tight ball, pillowing her head on my stomach with her eyes on me.

 

      “Don’t you want to use the bed?” I asked as I softly stroked her arm.

      “No … I’m fine here, I’m good.”

      “Okay,” I smiled to her. “How’s your head?” I asked, brushing her forehead and the top of her head.

      “It’s better,” she whispered. She was thoughtful and looked at me after a little while. “Mulder?”

      “Yes?”

      “Why do I still feel guilty?”

      “I don’t know, Scully. It’s a personal feeling. Accurate only to yourself. I don’t feel like you, I don’t believe you're guilty. It’s your personal boundaries, your deal-breakers that you feel you have violated, so you give yourself the consequence for violating your own rules.”

      “Guilt,” she admitted.

      “Yes. Guilt is rooted in the belief that mistakes call for punishment, which can lead to good behavior. In other words, one self-punishes oneself in hopes of self-correcting.”

      “And do you believe it works?”

      “No, I don’t. And in your case I really don’t see how this could happen again. I think you’re safe. It’ll get better.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Go to sleep, Scully,” I said as I pulled the blanket down onto her.

 

She nestled her face against me, nuzzling there, as if to bring her attention back to what she knew to be real, the familiar and soothing scent of a best friend, and she laid a hand on my stomach and the other in my back while my hands protectively covered her shoulders. She was going to be okay, as always. She was the strongest person I had ever known, maybe stronger than the Phoenix arising from the ashes of its predecessor. I had such a huge admiration for this petite woman. After a while, she drifted into sleep and I allowed myself to follow her, reassured.


	3. A light at the end of the tunnel

I devoted all the necessary means to finding a light case to move on from this horrible sequel.

It was clear to Scully that I had made every effort to bring her to the Californian sun. She knew it was no accident, she caught me red-handed; convincing her to drop everything and getting on the first plane to Los Angeles was a neater trick than losing one's head. Seriously? Hold on, let me rephrase that: the guy _lost_ his head? I didn't care. The great ( _skeptic_ , if you may, no problem) Muldeeni had all the best intentions in the world to stay away from heaviness; I had decided to smile and smile and have _her_ smile. No bright city lights would dim those that shined in her eyes when she smiled. Not even LA. The world could collapse around me without me seeing it when she smiled. This smile had lit my days (and some nights) from day one in that cemetery (really from night-one under a hell of pouring rain). A smile costed nothing but it gave so much, the memory of it lasting long after it was gone. Every time she smiled, it brought rest to the weary, it brought happiness and peacefulness to the unsettled, oblivious to the rest of the world and its wreaked havoc. Anyway! In the end, my mission was accomplished and we were both as light and joyful as kids who'd just actually discovered some magic tricks.

Things were back to normal, back to our comfort zone, which would also include being surrounded (proud and fancy free) by snakes of righteousness.

 

Unfortunately, quiet moments were as brief as a stolen kiss on New Year's Eve and ghosts from the past were never far enough not to come knocking on my door every once in a while.

Amber Lynn LaPierre.

Like I'd been for her not so long ago, Scully was worried for me, sensing the storm in approach. That was how we worked; we each had our own ghosts and they always affected the both of us.

I couldn't miss her pursed lips, her downcast eyes and her furrowed brows. But I wasn't personalizing this case. I wasn't! I was just putting my guts on the table, determined to find that little girl no matter what, so that her parents wouldn't have to go through what I went through. The nightmares, the horror of not knowing, the guilt … But when Scully came with the bad news, and when she said my mother was … dead … how was I supposed to keep things separate anymore? Unhealed wounds were just too fresh no matter how old they were.

 

      _Fox, it's your mother. I'd hoped you'd called upon your return but I haven't heard from you. I'm sure you're busy. There are so many emotions in me, I wouldn't know where to start, so much that I've left unsaid for reasons I hope one day you'll understand._

 

Scully's autopsy conclusion; the suicide of my mother … My whole body took it in like an earthquake. No less. A gigantic tsunami wave crushed me against the hardest possible rock, letting my numb body being dragged and shaken into the deepest and most unbreathable places. I tried to cope with denial but I broke into a million pieces in Scully's arms. My mother had tried to tell me something. I was sure my mother had tried to tell me something. I felt it in my gut. I felt an intense piercing pain shooting up my head. Why had I been my usual self-centered self? What had I been so selfishly focused on that little girl that I had not been able to return one damn phone call??

 

      “I knew it was affecting her! And I didn't do anything. I kept being the busy asshole I always am.”

      “Mulder, that's not who you are. You were doing your job. You simply didn't have the time,” she said softly into the back of my head. I could hear her tears.

      “That's bullshit, Scully. I was never there for her when she needed me.”

 

I broke free from her embrace and stood up. I wanted to hit the wall until my fists bled. I wanted to _feel_ the pain. Physical pain I could handle, I was sick and tired of emotional pain, this ache that tore me apart every single damn time, leaving me wracked in deep, tortured sobs. Rage was building in me, I was stuck in a game of Russian roulette, struggling to fight my mind in turmoil and my pitiful self.

 

      “It makes no sense! Why didn't she leave a note if she was dying?” I screamed.

      “Because she knew I would find that out,” she whispered, still kneeling next to my desk.

      “Another way to tell me how she blamed me for thinking of my job ahead of her?”

      “It's not what I meant, Mulder.”

      “No, it's what _she_ did.”

      “I don't believe that.”

 

I paced unsteadily in circles in the living room while Scully sat on my couch. Mumbles of the lost in my head. Samantha. My father. My mother. Restless and loud noises. I covered my ears but they were louder and louder. My own demons surrounding me, attacking my conscience, while rage was keeping me rigid. Until suddenly I couldn't hold back anymore and my right fist hit the living room door as I screamed my pain out. I heard Scully call out my name but I punched again with my left fist.

 

      “Mulder, stop,” she pleaded, grabbing my arms from behind me and pulling me back.

      It hurt. “She wanted to tell me something, Scully,” I asserted while pushing her hands away from me.

 

“Why” was the prefix to all sentences formulated by my conflicted mind. Tired out and numb, my legs gave way and I plopped down, letting myself slide slowly against the doorway. I remembered I had been there before; when Scully was dying, it had been her sister who came for me. Did my mother know? Did she know I loved her? The pain made me gasp and stagger for breaths I couldn’t catch, like a knife tearing through my skin and plunged deep into my stomach, sinking right through my organs and twisting. My head fell, heavy, between my knees as I was sitting on the floor. These voices … They wouldn’t leave me alone … Someone numb my mind … Someone mute these voices … Were they a part of my disease? Of my terrible _condition_ I had said nothing about to Scully? For more than six months I had seen doctors, hearing over and over their terrible conclusions, and I still didn’t know if I ever would tell Scully. When the time came, would I resolve myself to the same conclusion my mother just had? Would I let hope abandon me to the point of leaving me with no ulterior option but suicide?

 

      “Don't punish yourself for something you _couldn't_ prevent,” she said softly as I felt her hands on my knees. “You didn’t know she was sick. She didn't tell you.”

      I looked up at her. “Because I was never there for her.”

      “That's not true. Mulder, that's not true and you know it.”

      “One damn phone call, Scully, and I couldn't make it!”

      “Don’t do that to yourself, Mulder. She loved you the way you are. She didn’t want nor expected you to be any different from what you are. And you loved her too and she knew it.”

      “Did she, Scully?”

      “Mulder, of course, she knew. You have to let it go.”

 

How? Tell me! How was I supposed to do that? I inquired her eyes. It hurt so much, it was so much more than one could take in a lifetime. She looked at my fists. What did I care about my fists? They weren't even bleeding. Even that I couldn't do properly. But that acute pain in the pit of my stomach and in my heart, the knife twisting and twisting over and over again. I heard the voices again but I couldn't understand what they were saying even when I closed my eyes to focus on them. And then they were gone. When I opened my eyes, it was only Scully. Hurting and sad. She was all that I had left. Scully. And even her, I almost lost her, more times than I could count right now. We had both lost so much.

As tears slid along my cheeks, I looked deeply into her wet eyes. They weren't shining anymore. She had my pain in them. I could see it as if I looked into a mirror. I wanted a break from the pain. I wanted to kiss her. I felt the urge to kiss her. I wanted her. I needed … I needed a rush of adrenaline from a syringed-kiss to ease the pain. To shut my brain down. I was nothing but an open wound. I wanted the quietness of her kiss. Quietness wasn't the right term, unless it was the quietness from the outside world, outside of us. I didn't want a quiet kiss, I didn't want a tease; I wanted a fiery, hot and passionate kiss. I wanted to lose myself into her with that kind of raging inferno threatening to swallow me alive. I wanted the world to fall away. I didn't even want to have to break apart for air. She was the half to make me whole. I wanted to steal out of her mouth the comforting words she didn't need to say. She was the only comfort I needed, I wanted.

I knew I shouldn't have done it but I didn't want to hear my good conscience. I needed her. And before I knew it, I cupped the back of her head and hastily yanked her into my mouth. My breathing quickened and my chest swelled. It was so forceful, she lost balance and her hands landed on my chest while I thrust my tongue into her mouth. She tried to call my name but I kept kissing her. Eating her. Loving her. It was too good. It sent shivers down my back, adrenaline pulsating through my veins with loud booms. And then, for a brief moment, she responded to my begging demand and I felt her hand on my face. I nestled into her hand. She slowed the hunger of my tongue with hers and sweetened our kissing. I could feel the heat of her heart warming mine. It had suddenly become a heavenly bliss, passion wildly building inside me. It was as tender and firm as a promise. But she pulled back. Not now, please, Scully …

 

      “Mulder, stop,” she whispered.

      “I'm … sorry.”

 

That was all I could say but I meant it. I hid my face in my hands and closed my eyes again. I was so confused, so angry, so fucked-up and pained. Ashamed. I felt her hand grab mine over my eyes. How could she be so restlessly nice to me despite my worst behavior?

 

      “Don't be. You have no reason to be,” she said gently. I was so ashamed I closed my eyes and tucked my head again between my knees. “Mulder look at me.” She caressed my forehead and stroked my hair to the back of my crown until her hand stopped in the nape of my neck. I looked at her with eyes filled with tears. “I _know_ you care for me as much as I care for you and I'm here for you.”

      Was it allowed to say _love_ instead? I softly nodded and she leaned toward me, resting her forehead against mine. “I so wanted to kiss you, Scully.” All I wanted was to kiss her. No more, no less. Wrap myself in the blanket of hope again.

 

She pulled back and looked intensely at me for a moment. Then I kissed her warmed and salted cheek, tasting her own pain upon my lips. She tilted her face and covered my mouth with hers.

My heart skipped a beat and I desperately responded, my heart pounding and my breathing panting. I tried to control myself, not to show her how hungry and wild with desire I was. I rolled my tongue slowly against hers. I inhaled deeply her sweet reassuring perfume, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I wanted this to last as long as possible, to relax into it, leaning even closer to her, wanting to lose myself into her and so close over the edge, waiting only for gravity to take me. I loved her so much that I had forgotten all that I knew, all that had led us to this precious moment of shared relief and soothing.

When eventually she smoothly broke the kiss, I hugged her tightly in my arms and new tears rolled down my face. I wasn't ready to let her go yet.

 

      “Let's get some sleep,” she murmured.

 

She helped me get up and held me until we got to my bedroom where I fell numbly onto my bed.

 

      “Stay with me. I'm not going to … try anything.” I reached out my hand to her.

      She stared at me and kneeled on the bed. “I wasn't gonna go anywhere.”

 

She laid on her side, facing me, and I laid on mine, facing her, allowing my hand to rest on her hip, and our foreheads connected. We didn't talk anymore and after a while, we let sleep invade us.

 

      “There is something you need to know, Fox. Something I should have told you a long time ago,” my mother said over the phone.

      It had been a long day, looking for Amber Lynn, and I was tired but I strained my ears to hear. “Mum?” I called as nothing came. “You still there?”

      “Yes. I’m here.” She paused for another moment. “It should have been you, Fox.”

      “What should?”

      “Your sister didn’t deserve this. Neither did Dana Scully. But you did.”

      “Mum, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

      “You should have been taken and abused.”

      “What do you mean, Mum? Mum?” I called with a growing fear. Nothing. “Mum? Talk to me, please.” Did she just end the conversation like this? “Mum!” I screamed.

      “Mulder …” I heard Scully gently call my name, but I couldn’t see her. My apartment was as dark and empty as it always was. “Mulder, wake up.”

 

As I woke up, my eyes fluttering wide open, laying on my back and soaking wet, Scully was bent over me, her hand on my heart, whispering me that I had just had a nightmare. It took me less than a second to realize that I had indeed, and then I blew with relief the air I had been holding back. I pulled her in my arms and nuzzled my face in the crook of her neck while she whispered soothing words, asking me if I wanted to talk about it. I didn’t. I just wanted to rest there for just a little while longer and let my breathing even, and even out the jumpiness of my mind.

 

      “Don’t go too far away,” I told Scully when I eventually let go of her.

      She leaned down and rested her head on my chest. “Close enough?”

      I wrapped her in my arms. “Thanks. I’m sorry.”

      “Mulder, there’s no need to apologize here. I’m here if you need me. That’s what friends are for. Do you want to talk … about anything?”

      “No, I’m _fine_.”

      _“Right_. Well, if you need me, you wake me, Mulder.”

      “Good night, Scully.”

      “Good night, Mulder.”

 

I woke up several times during that night as my ghosts haunted and tracked me down in my sleep. And every time, Scully was here, awakened and ready to comfort me with soothing caresses on my face or my arms. The last time we awoke and fell asleep again, I went behind her and spooned her whole body against mine. I didn't know who was whose blanket but it felt safer this way.

 

The next thing I knew, Skinner knocked on the door and we were back in California. My body was an empty shell carrying me on, an unresponsive zombie-like shadow following my partner and boss up to Santa's North Pole Village. I had become one of my own ghosts. I was numb and calm from the exhaustion of this dull and unstoppable pain. Until we ended up in this clandestine and horrific graveyard of children's restless souls.

 

_They said the birds refused to sing and the thermometer fell suddenly, as if God himself had his breath stolen away. No one there dared speak aloud, as much in shame as in sorrow. They uncovered the bodies one by one._

 

I wanted my sister to be in one of those graves. As heartbreaking and horrible as it sounded, I wanted her there. So badly. I wanted so badly for this to be over. To finally be able to grieve and rest from this living nightmare and put it behind me as the heavy luggage I would forever carry, no matter what. Scully knew it. Just like I knew she disapproved that I put faith in that police psychic, Harold Piller. But I needed my journey to find Samantha to meet its end, and therefore to pave the way with hope, no matter where it came from. And, yes, it was a painful journey, but at the end of the day, I was fine, I was finally free. I was finally able to move on with my life with whatever other things I had to prove, to myself or to others.


	4. Playful parentheses

Life passes in moments, like a wheel unremittingly spinning between happy and sad phases. The weather is supposed to be equally balanced too between rain and sun, but it really depends on to where one lives. I wish I lived in the Caribbean, but I live in tepid latitudes of Earth (more or less) with a tendency to be restlessly attracted by the Antarctic. When one passes past one of these heavy sequels, one wants the wheel to stop revolving, to settle down and to deeply impregnate one’s mind and heart with joyous moments, to wash one’s memories with new ones.

 

Existence of a werewolf for instance was a good way to start over, broadcasted on national television was even a better one. Unlike Scully, I was very comfortable with the idea. At least until it became clear to me that this thing that we were chasing was not a werewolf, not Freddy Krueger either, but our most inhibited fears. From then, I focused on not focusing on what I feared the most, the only thing that I feared really. To avoid that thought (losing her, that is), I pictured a bubblegum pink Scully. That funky image made me smile. That would definitely have been a good color for her. Well, no, it wouldn’t, not really, but I focused on that anyway. That was of course _before_ I saw her in a FPS stun suit!

 

I may not have been completely myself on this case but I was not to be reduced to a _moony teenager_. Well, okay, maybe just a little. _Alright,_ I was excited! But who wouldn't be (besides Scully obviously)? That case was simply the rising-tide wave that I needed to sweep the messy sand.

To be happy, many people become addicted to chemical substances (alcohol, cocaine, amphetamines, heroin, nicotine and so on) that stimulate their brain. But it’s only artificial, it’s a big illusion. As for me on the contrary, I had to shut my brain and part from my own history to be happy. My addiction was not chemical; it had red hair, blue eyes, a beautiful smile and an outstanding and infectious laugh. Scully was joyfully arousing and I loved to loose myself there every time I had the chance.

I don't know for example who was the most arousing in that police station; was it that Miss Afterglow, this stunning sculpture of the fantasmatic Beauty seemingly borne straight out of men’s imagination, or my dearest fighting-to-keep-control-of-herself trying-not-to-smile-at-my-mostly-neuronless-behavior and unimpressed Scully? Scully was my term of endearment. I don't know either who bent the most when Miss Afterglow left the interrogation room; was it me trying to peek at the phenomenon or Scully trying to block my view? Ha! Three kisses to the woman and she thinks I'm all hers. I am, I'm kidding, no take backs. Of course I was all hers. I had been even before that kiss of the millennium. It's like she said, I was just getting my ya ya's out. Of course, once in the game, it was more like la la Land … until Scully showed up and (kinda) saved the virtual day. God when she arrived … I think I just had a _neurorgasm!_ How would I ever separate fantasy from reality anymore? I was back to the kid I had unfortunately not had to opportunity to be.

The game stopped just seconds after I had managed to open the elevator door with my Excalibur sword and then it was all quiet again “outside”; the tank and the shotguns had shushed and we were safe and locked inside.

 

      _“Some immature, hormonal fantasy_ , huh?” I reminded Scully of her own words, chuckling.

 

What'd I say!? She jumped onto me and slammed her lips onto mine. I was completely unprepared. But I knew what had to be done. I took her face in my hands and pressed my lips harder onto hers, our tongues tangling in a battle of dominance, our breaths mingling while my hands slid to the back of her head and made a big whole mess of her hair. Involuntarily.

 

      And then all of the sudden, she broke out, exhaled noisily with some kind of a relief and slapped my shoulder. “Dammit, Mulder!”

      “Mind blowing!” I smiled. I didn’t (of course) mean _just_ the game.

 

Then Langly, Byers, Frohike and Phoebe opened the door and the rest is history.

Can we make these light moments last longer? There is no way, no path to happiness. Happiness should _be_ the path (and maybe it is). Thus, each passed moment with someone special enough to share their own time with yours is a reminder that time does not wait. One must stop waiting for insignificant things to happen and decide that there is no better time to be happy than now.


	5. Kept secrets, hideous lies and guessing games

I didn't mean to keep score but that was four. Four kisses. I tried not to over think it. But four kisses to and from Dana Scully though. A shame I couldn't brag about it. Maybe there was a happy place on this planet after all, she'd always keep me guessing. In another way, she kept me guessing too when we investigated those voodoo dolls.

And kept me guessing again that day at work when I met her at the elevators. Although, this time, I knew something was wrong the second I saw her. Your eyes never lie.

 

      “Then what's wrong?”

      “I'm … I'm sorry I haven't told you. I don't know why I haven't. I mean, you were always there for me during my illness but, um …”

      “Don't make me guess.”

      “I was left unable to conceive with whatever tests that they did on me. And I am not ready to accept that I will never have children.”

      “Scully, there's … there's something I haven't told you either and I hope you forgive me and understand why I would have kept it from you.”

      “What?”

      “During my investigation into your illness I found out the reason why you were left barren. Your … ova were taken from you and stored in a government lab.”

      “What? You found them?”

      “I took them directly to a specialist who would tell me if they were okay.”

      “I don't believe this.”

      “Scully, you were deathly ill, and I … I couldn't bear to give you another piece of bad news.”

      “Is that what it was? It was bad news?”

      “The doctor said that the ova weren't viable.”

      “I want a second opinion.”

 

I had already asked for a second opinion. And a third. And a fourth … And every single time, what I had heard had broken my heart into pieces, leaving me bed ridden as such I would never walk again.

Later that month, it was lunchtime and like many other times we had ordered take out and were eating in the basement office. She had seen a doctor a couple of days ago and then, when she didn't tell me how it went, I assumed it was bad news and the doctor had told her the exact same thing I had. She was very silent that day, lost in her thoughts. I imagined she was grieving the loss and I respected her silence, eating as slowly as she was to grant her more time. I just looked up at her across the desk every once in a while, unsure whether to say something or not. What could I possibly have said to comfort her? When the hurt was senseless and unfair and irreparable, what little sympathy could I only hope to give?

 

      “Mulder?” She called softly.

      “Um?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin and looked at her.

      “I saw a fertility doctor yesterday … Doctor Parenti thinks … Before I say this, Mulder, I want you to hear me out and to not answer me.” She paused and stared at me. Did I say _Don't make me guess_ before? I nodded. “Doctor Parenti thinks there's a good chance that I can get pregnant.”

      “There is!? Oh my God, this is great, Scully. I'm sorry, go on.”

      “Yes. Doctor Parenti thinks we can try right away through IVF.” She paused. I was so happy for her. “Oh my God, okay, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just shoot.” I nodded again, I honestly had no idea where she was going with this. “I'd like you to be my donor, Mulder.” I opened my mouth to talk but she raised her hand. “Don't. Don't answer now, please. Just think about it. I know it's not a decision that you should take lightly. Give it some time, okay?”

 

There was nothing to think about there. Thinking quickly for her had nothing to do with thinking lightly. Was an afternoon _some time_ enough? That same evening, I knocked at her door.

 

      “Come on in. Can I take your coat?”

      “No, I can't stay. I gotta get back to the office for a while.”

      “Obviously you've had some time to think about my request.”

      “Um, it's … it's not something that I get asked to do every day. Um, but I am absolutely flattered. No, honestly.”

      “Okay, if … if you're trying to politely say no, it's okay. I … I understand.”

      “See what's weird is this sounds, and this sounds really weird, I know but I … I just wouldn't want this to come between us.”

      “Yeah. I know I … I understand. I do.”

      “But the answer is yes.”

 

I felt so peaceful when she hugged me tightly. Of course the answer was yes. Not because I felt partly guilty for what she'd lost, but because it was right. And as selfish as it sounded, I was not sure I could bear the sight of her pregnant with another man, even if she was pregnant thanks to IVF. I didn't expect anything in return, it was not like she belonged to me or anything … it's not that, I just wanted … _I_ wanted this baby to come from me. If someone could grant her that gift, the gift of a child, the gift of motherhood, it had to be me. An eternal present. Another one of these no-take-backs. She was what was most important to my life and I liked to think that by asking me to be her donor, she was saying the same about me. It all made sense. And to marvel that a life could actually come out of this … Out of us. Out of a bond that was so strong even without mere sex that life would somehow find its way anyway. It _had_ to work.

 

But then for a reason I still can’t understand, she left without notice, with that cigarette-smoking bastard. Yeah, I do understand, if there was a chance to discover the cure for cancer, I would have done everything I could too. What was I willing to do to save my own life? Everything but turn to him. I couldn't believe she had been so blinded by his promises. I couldn't believe that she _lied_ to me. Over voicemail, for convenience of avoiding both my eyes and my questioning. Out of town for a few days for a family emergency, huh? What did she think? That it would be easier for me to believe and leave her alone? That I wouldn't worry more if it were for _family emergency_ reasons? She _was_ my family. Her family mattered to me. That I wouldn't rush to her place upon my hundredth attempt to call her? But no, let's call Skinner instead and tell _him_ you're _fine._ I know the words, Scully. _“I'm fine.”_ I know. How many times had I heard those words? She was in trouble. That's what I heard. How could she even just begin to trust that rat bastard?

I averted my eyes that evening in my apartment as the gunmen read her precious empty disk. Because I was upset and hurt for one, because she'd deliberately betrayed my trust, and because I didn't want to read apologies in hers.

There was one final reason. I myself had my _own_ secret, the one I couldn’t tell Scully about, the one she couldn't have done anything about, the one for which I was still not ready to give up hope. The untreatable one.

 

Doctors had been unanimous; I was dying. When well-known traditional medicine didn’t work, you wanted to turn to alternative ones, to those beyond our range of understanding. You were looking for a miracle, one of these same rare, unfamiliar and unexplained miracles that had saved Scully once and resulted in her full recovery from cancer. Those alternatives could very well be tomorrow's medicine, they just needed time to be documented. It was all that I had left anyway, alternatives. I did consider once or twice the alternative my mother had chosen for herself, but I couldn't do it to Scully. Suicide was a good escape, an easy one for those who left, but an unbearable and devastating one for those who stayed. I knew too well. What would you do to save your life? Would you be ready to be eaten alive? I thought I was … But the suffering in the soul eater’s eyes had impeded my determination, had surpassed my need and willpower for healing and left me to my fate.

Yes, we all had our own secrets. Unfortunately.

 

But that had nothing to do with me ditching Scully in the stakeout rat hole! I wasn't the kind to hold a grudge. I had moved on from her unfortunate _incident_ , let's call it. I can't say though that I wasn't pleased to hear her suffering from broken furnace, of malnutrition, of tiredness. Oh, I sound horrible, don't I? Hey, what can I say, it was just a tiny bit of compensation for the desperate deeds she'd put me through with the smoking son of a bitch (at least _my being awol_ had been unnoticed). Okay, revenge, whatever. I don't care, my hosts in Ravenville were the best, and the finest cook too.

 

      “Mulder when you find me dead, my desiccated corpse propped up staring lifelessly through the telescope at drunken frat boys peeing and vomiting into the gutter, just know that my last thoughts were of you … and how I'd like to kill you.”

 

I swallowed laughter. Oh, she missed me, my not-in-the-widely-understood-definition of significant other as I put it. Yeah, she missed me.

I politely nodded when Ellen Adderly schooled me about finding the right woman and how she would be my refuge. Thanks, but no thanks. I knew that already. I had that already, in our own understanding of the definition. I had been in foster homes before. I had all that I needed. Our situation wasn't that strange. To us, anyway. I believed I was living my most purposeful life ever until she came down and rocked my world. I deeply and completely loved her. Who cares about the others' opinions? That was the way I loved her. Whether this bond was platonic or romantic, it was stronger and more authentic than anything I’d known before. Tougher than any cabin I'd been in before and built out of solid hard bricks. A love even beyond the sex that we didn't have. Until we did, a few days later.


	6. The first time

The controlled and held-back sadness on her face when she came home that night, I’ll never forget it. I took it all in with her when I wrapped my arms around her, trying to bring her all the little comfort I could provide compared to the great, unmeasurable loss.

 

      “I guess it was too much to hope for. It was my last chance,” she cried in my arms.

 

It was hard on me too and I closed my eyes, pressing her tight against me. And then, I hoped. For another chance. For a miracle that she so badly deserved. Never in my life have I allowed myself to give to in the horrific admissions that I was supposed to take for granted. Her abduction, her aftermath coma, her cancer, or lately my brain tumor … I had always wanted to believe that there were other options than just the ones that seemed left, displayed like doors leading out from a room. There was always more than one way out, always more than one emergency exit.

 

      I kissed her forehead and leaned mine against hers. “Never give up on a miracle.”

 

She pressed her lips on my cheek for a few seconds and I pressed her chest onto mine again. I didn’t have the start of an idea for a miracle yet, but I would never admit myself defeated. Her tears wetted my neck and her hand was gripping at the nape of my neck with the fierceness of a shipwreck survivor at a lifebuoy. I held on to her until she was ready to let go and swim, walk on her own. Waiting for the storm to pass.

But instead she kept her hand on my neck and looked intensely, almost begging into my eyes. I tried a comforting smile as I wiped away her tears, and then she gently pulled at the back of my neck to lower my face to her eyes. The soft touch of her lips onto mine immediately brought a strong feeling of warmth as I fiercely closed my eyes too.

It was soft and sad; our breathings were slow and calming and I soon felt her hand relaxing on my neck and beginning to gently fondle my hair. Our tongues were soothingly caressing one another, absorbing the pain, brushing it away, opening the floodgates. I crossed my hands in her lower back and inhaled her deeply. Even breathing was easy.

After a while, she rested her forehead against mine again. Her hands slid slowly upon my chest and softly took the hems of my shirt and sweater over my stomach. Then I felt her hands on my skin. They were cold. I kept my hands on her lower back but my heart started to pound louder as she brushed my stomach with her palms and fingertips and knuckles. I swallowed and I guess she felt it or heard it because she looked up at me. Just for a short moment. Before she kissed me again. I unclasped my hands and laid them flat on her waist and gently pressed her closer to me, trapping her hands between us. I felt her kiss more demanding, her tongue darting deeper in my mouth, her teeth gently biting the tip of my tongue. Her hands slid to my sides and took my clothes again. Though this time, she slowly lifted them up. Oh man, I wanted this as much as she seemed to, but I was unable to move, unable to take advantage of her sorrow. She took her lips off of mine and pulled back just enough to take me off my clothes.

 

      Against my will, I put my hands on hers to stop her and I looked at her. “Scully,” I whispered. Dammit! How do you tell the woman you love, the woman who’s been told horrible news, who’s just been refused women’s most precious gift that you don’t want her? Or that you do, so badly — you _have_ to know I do, Scully — but you can’t? I took her hands and clasped them into mine, and I brought them to my lips.

      She looked up at me and then she kissed my hand. Her eyes never leaving mine, she said “I don’t need this, Mulder. I _want_ this.”

 

A pause. I couldn’t move as I tried to process the truth in her words. And when I stared at her I had the feeling her eyes weren’t saying “I’m hurt” anymore, they were saying “thank you”. For having done this with me, for having been there and still being here now. Yet, there was still a part of me who was fighting, telling me this wasn’t the right time, while the other part was unable to refuse her anything, especially if it meant hurting her. An inward fucking moral compass spinning around the clock to show me the right choice. Fuck, there was no right choice!

 

She freed her hands from mine and I let her, my eyes still locked into hers, looking for a sign to step forward or to step back. I didn’t want to step back. Her eyes were telling me what they’d told me so many times over the years, that she loved me. Wordlessly. She pulled my tee and sweater up to my armpits and I raised my arms, now half naked in front of her. She looked at me like it was the first time while she took off her jacket and tossed it onto the couch. Then she took my hands in hers and brought them to the hem of her sweater for me to take it off.

 

      “Scully, are you sure?”

      “Yes. Absolutely.”

 

I waited a few seconds before I pulled her out of her clothes too.

Her breasts were swelled inside her bra as her breathing became more complete. I took her hands and pulled her to me into a kiss, her bare skin against mine and I cupped her neck below her ear, my thumb caressing her cheek. She pressed herself harder against me as if to allow our skins to gain as much contact as possible while her hands stroked my back. The touch of flesh on flesh was so warm and soft. So perfect. She felt so amazingly smooth under my hands.

At one point, her hands disappeared behind her back and she unclipped her bra, gazing at me intensely.

 

      “Let me,” I whispered, hooking my fingers under the straps of her bra and sliding them down slowly, revealing beautiful and full breasts.

 

I threw the bra on the couch and took her hands again. As I looked at her, I felt my heart flutter, my breathing quicken, my cock twitch in my pants, and warmth spread through my entire body.

 

      “Jesus, Scully, you’re so beautiful.”

 

The sincerity of my voice touched her and she softly smiled and blushed. I gently pulled her to me again and began nuzzling her neck with delicate kisses. She tilted her face up to grant me better access while she brushed my hair with her hands. Her breathing was full and her breasts caressed my chest up and down, her nipples hardening. I lowered myself to continue exploring all the curves of her body with my lips until they reached her breasts and my hands fondled her back as I began kissing them, nipping her tits within my lips. She moaned and her body arched.

I gently pulled her up in my arms and she hugged my neck and kissed me while I carrying her bridal-style through the dark little hallway to her room where I laid her on her back.

My heart was beating so hard. She was more beautiful that I could ever have imagined. I was overwhelmed with passion and desire. The soft warm glow coming from the window lingered her torso and drew shadows under her amazing curves. I bent down and laid by her side, barely propped up on my elbow. We looked at each other for a moment, without saying a word, allowing ourselves to take in what was happening. Her hand caressed my face, lovingly. I gazed at her naked torso, the back of my fingertips drawing an invisible line from her lips to her neck, breasts and belly. But as I looked there, my palm tenderly covering it, I realized it was as flat and tight as could be and I felt tears threatening to push in the back of my eyes. Those sons of bitches …

 

      “Don’t think about it,” she said softly, capturing my face and pulling me into a kiss.

 

I responded hungrily, pushing back my tears, relaxing to the point where worries and pain slowly fade away into nothingness, nothingness but us, sliding my hand up to her breasts and squeezing them, playing with her nipples. Her hands stroked my chest, pinched my tits and rubbed to my lower stomach. She unclipped my belt, unbuttoned my pants, unzipped me slowly all the way down and her hand was in my boxers. The tenderness of her touch overwhelmed me. I moaned her name in her mouth. I wanted her so much. I loved her so much.

Love was the kind of unspoken language that fitted us. We had always understood each other with nothing more than a kind gaze, a soft touch of a hand or a tight hug. Love was but tender deeds of truthfulness and trustworthiness that didn’t need one word (unless they were three). I knew. She knew. We’d felt it running through our veins for a long time now. And our longing for each other had only jumped to greater heights. Passion was intoxicating and flowing throughout the bedroom like a perfume. I wanted this feeling to last forever.

She massaged my balls and rubbed her hands all the way up my hard sex. I cupped her inner thighs over her pants and she parted her legs, arching her back and sighting in my mouth. I felt electricity under my skin, hormones shutting down my brain and I saw the rise of the animal in her eyes. One touch and it was over.

She pushed me on my back and hovered her breasts over my chest. I unbuttoned her pants and slid my hand to her wet center inside her panties but she crawled backward before I had the time to take a good _look_ at how much she wanted me. She pulled me out of my pants and boxers while I kicked my shoes off. She planted soft kisses on my chest and licked my stomach down to my sex. I pressed my head into the mattress when I felt her mouth around me. I extended my arm and went into her panties again as she widened her legs.

There was no going back. No takes back again. I had no way to express the strength of the emotions that were surging and quickening my heart. We were so connected there was no hesitation, no haste either, no shame, no shyness, no fear, as if we had done this before, as if we knew each other _by heart_. Speaking from heart to heart, soul to soul what our mouths had failed to speak for so long.

My fingers rubbed her clitoris in small circles and easily moved inside of her while she sucked my testicles, her hand stroking my cock up and down in a restless rhythm. I inhaled deeply, trying to hold back the pressure quickly building and to relax. This was too good to be over before it had even started. My hips rocked subconsciously, pushing me deeper in her mouth.

I pulled her up to my mouth, cupped her neck and breathed in her ear that I wanted to taste her, too. I was intoxicated, drunk with passion and wild with desire. As she was still on her knees, I pulled down her pants and pushed her onto her back. Took the pants and panties and shoes off. She hissed and panted and swore, all naked on her bed when I finally sucked her wet flavors of desire, flicking her clit with my tongue. She pressed my face harder against her when I pushed two fingers up into her and began to stroke her inner walls, sucking her clit into my mouth and nipping it with my teeth. She was biting her lip when I looked up at her as if to keep herself from screaming as her walls tingled. I shoved my tongue up into her. I had never tasted juices so flavored and arousing.

 

      “Oh my God,” she screamed. God has nothing to do with this, babe. “Mulder, fuck!” There you go! “Come back here,” she panted, scratching my back like a cat falling off a curtain and trying to slow its descent.

 

I crawled to her, leaving my knees between her open legs, and she cupped my face and kissed me. While kissing, she took my shaft in one hand and rubbed it against her folds. I wanted to see. I needed to look into her eyes when I would thrust into her, therefore I broke the kiss. Not too far out anyway, she still had her hand on my neck. I took my cock and rubbed it up and down against her a few more times until I slowly slid inside of her. Her eyes fluttered shut instantly while I caught my breath, pure desire and pleasure taking over me.

 

      “You okay?” I murmured, inhaling and exhaling deeply, leaning down to her.

      She opened her eyes and cupped my face with both hands and whispered with a smile, “Yes, Mulder, I’m okay.”

 

I leaned in a bit more to kiss her while I began pumping in and out of her, arching my back to adjust the pressure and pleasure.

She rocked her hips along with my thrusts. We started slowly and quickened and deepened the pace as her legs widened. She felt so good. I was hot and dizzy, my mouth dry, every single pore of my body absorbing all this tenderness that I had not felt in many years. She uttered a slight moan and I trapped it in my mouth. After a while she pushed herself up and straddled me. As I cupped her ass, she slid down along me and started to jerk up and down onto me. Senses aroused, body tense, emotions stirred, pressure was building faster than I wanted. I wrapped one arm around her waist, and used the other one to thumb her clit while my mouth kissed her neck. I rocked my waist with her like she did with me moments before. I was inexorably getting closer and closer to the edge as I felt herself tightening around me. I felt high. I licked my thumb and rubbed her clit harder.

Suddenly, she was plunged into a hard orgasm and a high wail, a long, wordless cry of pleasure, echoed in the room. I slowed then stopped my thrusts and wrapped her in my arms as she started to tremble, wanting to wrap her with the tenderness she had just boundlessly given me.

 

      She opened her eyes to me, staring deeply into mine. “What? Why did you stop?” She asked, breathing hard.

      “I’m … enjoying the moment,” I smiled.

      She smiled too. Forget bubblegum pink, her cheeks were red pink. “But you’ve … you’re not done yet,” she asked with genuine concern.

      “Almost.”

      “The more reason for you to continue.”

      “Scully, I …”

 

Truth be told, now that we had paused, the question pondered in my mind for the first time. If I reached climax inside of her, wouldn’t it be seen as if I didn’t care about her barrenness? Why take the reasonable precautions after all? And if I didn’t climax in her, wouldn’t she ask me afterward why I had bothered since she had zero chance of getting pregnant? Thereby reminding her (in case she could forget) that she couldn’t bear children. Do I think too much? Fuck, I don’t know.

 

      “Mulder, shut up,” she started to rock onto me again. I shut my brain down and cupped her fabulous bouncing breasts.

 

After a few thrusts, I came into her. I tightened my grip on her as spasms of ejaculation took over all of my body, and then I laid my head onto her shoulder, panting and trembling and sweating with her. I was still inside her, and we didn’t move for at least five minutes, remaining spasms coming and shaking us every once in a while.

Then, she laid on her side and I laid behind her, pulling the sheets to cover us both and I hugged her from behind, nesting my chin in her neck.

 

      “Are you okay?” She asked after a long silent.

      “Are you _kidding?”_ I think my eyes rolled so far back that I hit a nerve, and I rolled her onto her back to look at her. “I just had sex with the most beautiful woman in the world and you’re asking me if _I’m_ okay?” She smiled and stroked my cheek. “Are _you_ okay?” I asked seriously.

      She looked deeply into my eyes and after a moment she said, “I’ve never felt so alive, Mulder.”

 

Yeah, same here. It would have been yet another lonely night if you hadn’t invited me to your bed. We kissed and fell asleep in each other’s arms.


	7. The second time (still not keeping score)

That was (unfortunately) the one and only time we woke up in the same bed together. The good thing on the other hand was that nothing had changed between us. We had had amazing sex (finally), not yet planning on the next romp but I was confident there would be one. That kind of chemistry … It was as if we had known instinctively what to do and when to do it; sex had allowed us to step deeper inside each other’s soul. There was zero awkwardness, we hadn’t needed to talk about it afterwards. It was truer than anything I’d ever known. I might have gotten a little hot just thinking about it but we were still our professional selves at the office and she was still not interested in my kooky theories (that’s an understatement).

One day as I was expositioning about crop circles, I had to pull her out of her reverie by saying “And I’m not wearing any pants right now.” Come to think of it, maybe things had changed a little, because on that particular day, and I think for the first time, she had not wanted to come with me. Okay, she had an autopsy, okay it was Saturday, but still …

So, I went to England. Alone. And I came back. Disappointed for the big waste of time. But then out of nowhere, here she was. Scully. She stopped me in the street and when I told her I had learned nothing and nothing had happened in Europe, she said to me: “Maybe sometimes nothing happens for a reason, Mulder.” That was the second time she’d said something like that this year. What was it again the first time? Oh yeah, “Maybe everything does happen for a reason, whether we see it or not.” What was that supposed to mean? Why did she smile when she replied “nothing” as I’d asked her what it meant? It was as brief as the blink of an eye, but I’d seen her smile.

 

      “What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong and there were signs along the way to pay attention to?” She wondered later that evening.

      “Then all the choices would then lead to this very moment. One wrong turn and we wouldn’t be sitting here together. Now, that says a lot. It says a lot, a lot, a lot. I mean, it’s probably more than we should be getting into at this late hour.”

 

She had fallen asleep. I delicately covered her and tucked her hair behind her ear. She was beautiful. I didn’t know what it meant that she believed that fate, destiny or whatever other reason, had decided that we should be sitting here together tonight. All I knew was that I felt blessed and peaceful. Because the choices she was talking about, the way I see it, they were all hers; _she_ could have obeyed orders (especially as a novice at the FBI) and debunked me, debunked the X-Files or _she_ could have quit working with me about a hundred times and I’m sure she would have had a brilliant career. But no, she stood by her integrity and stood by me, followed me to the end of the world, put her life and career at risk for me more times than I could count. She could have had any man that she wanted, but she’d chosen me. That said a lot. That right there proved that she loved me. Even when we were not romantically involved, we had been chastely faithful to each other, only holding back our true feeling lest our extraordinary relationship would change, lessen or suffer from it. How foolish of us to have thought so.

I lingered my lips over her cheek, barely brushing her skin, careful not to wake her up, and went to bed. Simply happy.

 

She joined me in my bed that night, drifting in silent under the sheet, and I sensed her hand caressing my stomach. When I rose my head, I saw that she was naked. She slid her hands up to my neck and leaned over to kiss me while I slid mine on her back.

 

      “Hey,” I whispered, beginning to sit upright. “Is everything okay?” I don’t know why I always feared the worst. To my defense, I was still a bit jetlagged.

      “Yes, I was just lonely on your couch. And I had the weirdest dream that you were taking another plane and leaving without me, and I felt very sad about it.” She slowly pushed me back and leaned over me.

      “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you believe that was another sign to pay attention to?” I smiled as I brushed my hands from her shoulders down to her wrists, trying hard to keep my eyes focused on hers when they only wanted to drop to her bare chest.

      “Like a craving for a not-so-platonic male friend?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “I do.”

      “I do too.”

 

We made love again, for the second time in a few days and I wondered if that was what she had meant earlier. That nothing had happened in England because _this_ moment was supposed to happen instead. What were the odds of meeting, me unaware of where she was or what she was doing and her thinking I was in England? Meeting like magnets inescapably failing to stay apart for a too long period of time or space and longing to be one again. Like the _only one choice_ , a beautifully fate-written chapter of a book which already knew it all and that we were just starting to open to discover its wonders. The more I tasted her, the more I wanted to taste her, uncover all the truth from this book full of marvels; her heart-stopping, hard, passionate kisses, her mind-blowing caresses, her exceptionally skilled tongue around me, her intoxicating and impatient moans of my name, her awakening of my senses I didn’t even know existed, the growing-stronger tremors of the bed and her swearing when she reached orgasm, the shudders just to think about it, and her radiant smile when our heartbeats ramped down, our bodies sweat and tangled. Everything.

Even though she wasn’t here anymore when I woke up, I could definitely have gotten used to this if it were our destiny.


	8. Bugs, blood and guts

I could deal with destiny. I would, however, never get used to Scully’s autopsies and dead guys’ lung full of disgusting swarming larvae. I thought at first that was what made me uncomfortable and dizzy. But when I coughed blood … I understood the grossness of the bugged organ wasn’t the cause. I can only imagine how much Scully must have been distraught when I was on the operating table surrounded by medical staff relieving my chest of hundreds of worms and eggs.

She was here to take my hand when I woke up in a hospital bed. Her eyes, darker than usual, gave me as much serenity as the sight of a sky darkening before a storm. But the clouds and smokes were pushed away. Eventually. Like they always did. _After the rain comes the sun._

In our case, it was the far west Californian sun for the premiere of The Lazarus Bowl, a little less than a year and a half after they had started filming. I can’t say that I was overwhelmed by what I saw on the screen. It was … disappointing, to say the least. They got it so wrong. This movie was all blood and guts and I walked out feeling sick before The End was displayed on the screen. I sat down on the fake grass of the fake cemetery and thought about what was real and meant something to me.

 

I remembered when last year Scully had told me her story of twisted Sister Spooky. I remembered I had been watching the _Ed Wood investigative method_ one night and the unexpectedly arrived Scully had felt sorry for me for having seen it forty-two times. I remembered Scully had wondered if true faith was really a form of insanity and how I had thought that was directed to me before she had admitted it was to her. I remembered a lot of things that were not very different from how they were now. Oh, and Scully had mocked me, telling me that Téa Leoni had a crush on me (and Garry Shandling, too). _That_ had changed; I didn’t give a damn anymore. Not even sure I had cared back then.

It had been so easy to be with Scully over the years, romantically involved or not, it had felt so natural that I’m sure if I had looked back even further in the years I would have realized that even then things had been the same. No woman nor man, no one had ever respected me or loved the way she had, regardless of my many flaws. One which was cowardice. I should have found the strength to tell her about my illness. I was going back to Squamash, Pennsylvania in a few days and even though, this time, it wasn’t for me but to stop Marie Hangemuhl’s spirit and illness from being consumed by the sin-catcher shaman, I had to find the courage to face my own death and properly say goodbye. Just in case. Had I been wrong to take this intimate step in our relationship? Another act of cowardice and selfishness? I mean, I knew she had wanted this too, but would she still if she knew it was only for a short period of time?

Preoccupied with my thoughts, I barely heard her arriving. She sat by me and hooked her hand around my arm.

 

      “I think the dead are beyond caring what people think about them. Hopefully we can adopt the same attitude. You do know that there aren’t real dead people out there, right? That this is a movie set?” She chuckled.

      “The dead are everywhere, Scully.” Somehow, hoping that was true.

      “Well, we’re alive.” Speak for yourself unfortunately, Scully. “And we’re relatively young. And Skinner was so tickled by the movie —”

      “I bet he was.”

      “— that he has given us a bureau credit card to use for the evening. Come on.”

      “Where are we going?” I asked.

 

She just smirked at me, enigmatically.


	9. Deus Caritas Est

      “Agent Scully, is this a date in broad daylight?” I asked later as we stepped inside the extravagantly fancy restaurant.

      “Well … Technically, it’s not daylight anymore and we’re clearly overdressed for regular restaurants. But, yes, you may call it a date.”

 

I smiled, kissed her cheek and offered her my arm as a gentleman.

The refined and contemporary decorated restaurant was a round dining room overlooking the Pacific. It had a dark wooden floor and furniture made of wood, leather and linen. A couple of candles warmly lighting each table added an impression of quietness and romanticism to the pleasant and inviting atmosphere. The classical music was so soft you had to wonder if you were imagining it.

We didn’t have to wait long to be seated by a window facing the ocean at a round table where I noticed a single red rose in its center. It was perfect.

 

      I bent over and whispered, “How much do you think a bottle of wine is in this place?”

      “Not to mention a bottle of champagne.”

      “Oh, you’re _bad.”_

      She pulled her chair closer to me. “Absolutely not, I believe this card is Skinner’s gift for services rendered. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that’s the only time we’re going to have the privilege.”

      “Especially after he sees the check,” I chuckled.

      She took my hand above the table. “Besides, I’m pretty sure the prices will be on your menu only, so you let me handle the order, dear.”

      “I’ve been relying solely on you for a while now, Scully.”

 

It was simple and easy; we were enjoying ourselves. The hardest part was to decide between wine and champagne (all written in some obscure gibberish, European language). Talk about an embarrassment for the riches! So, we ordered both. I wished life would always be this simple and reduced to a choice of program for the evening, a choice of clothing, or a choice of food (even when you had to take a leap of faith and decide that beef was _Noisettes de boeuf façon charcutière, laquées à la baie rose sur lit de betteraves en trois couleurs_ _, even when Scully was making every attempt to distract you by playing footsie under the table)_.

 

      “This wine is totally worth whatever insane price it is,” Scully smiled.

      “Definitely.” I clicked my glass to hers. “You know, there’s a proverb that says that only the first bottle is expensive.”

      “And is it?” Her smile was glued on her face.

      “I don’t know. How much is that champagne again?” She chuckled. “There’s another proverb that says a beautiful woman and wine are equally softly poisonous.”

      “Aww, Mulder, I didn’t know you had a romantic bone in you.”

      “The secret ingredient is resentment, Scully. Maybe I got that from all those tapes on my bookshelf (that aren’t mine). _I’m hot, you’re hot, wanna get it poppin', baby?”_

      “Ha ha! Don’t bother, Mulder: I like that side of you.”

      “Do you even know what romanticism is to a guy?”

      “I fear what you’re gonna say.” She smiled, her brows furrowed.

      I bent to her ear and murmured, “Sex.”

      She chuckled and playfully pushed me away. “You’re a romantic, Mulder, no matter what you say.”

      “The reason is, you’ve got to love this place, Scully; every second’s like Romeo and Juliet.”

      “Why, I hope not. Didn’t quite like its ending.”

      “Love Story?”

      “Doesn’t get any better. Don’t you have a story where the characters don’t die in the end?”

      “See! My point exactly. Those tapes I told you about, no characters die. If you like romanticism, you should see them someday. You’ll like them.”

      “Who says I haven’t seen them?”

      “Woo! Now we’re talking.” I looked at her, very intrigued. “Tell me, G-woman.”

      She smiled at me, enigmatically. After a moment, she said, “I’ll always keep you guessing.”

 

That gave me a chill and brought me back to Scully’s infertility. Not that I had forgotten it anyway, but one thing led to another, and I wondered … what was that miracle waiting for? Scully and I were so connected, the paths of our lives so intimately mixed and crossed that in our own way, we both desperately needed a miracle.

 

      “What is it, Mulder?”

      “What? Oh, no, nothing.” I tried to smile but it didn’t quite reach my eyes, I guess.

      “Mulder.” She had said my name in that warning tone, that reproachful tone that she had used before; the one that meant _I know there’s something, so you’d better go ahead and tell me_.

      “You know, I was just remembering earlier tonight when we were here in LA last year. Do you remember when you said to me that true faith was really a form of insanity?”

      “When did I say that?”

      “In my place, right before we took off on our four-week probation.”

      “I don’t remember …”

      “I thought it was directed to me and you said it was to you.”

      “Is that what’s bothering you?”

      “No. I’m just wondering what you’d meant.”

      “Wow Mulder, that’s a … conversation I’m not sure I can handle after such fine wine and champagne.” She brought her glass of wine to her mouth, thoughtfully thinking about it, and took a sip while I fought off my pervading melancholy. “Perhaps I could say that as a scientist and a catholic, that’s a question that’s been bugging me every once in a while. Why do we want so much to believe that there’s more to this life than what we know, that we ignore all logic and stand by this book that talks about an almighty God and his son?”

      “It is, as you say, an interesting question that may require a bit more sobriety.” I smiled softly, thoughtful. I wanted to believe I wasn’t insane to have such faith in finding an answer to both our pleas.

      “Yeah. But you know, since we’re talking about religion over wine, I have a confession to make,” she smiled.

      “Don’t tell me you’re in love with associate producer Walter Skinner.”

      She laughed. “No. No. But do you remember last year here, one afternoon you called me, and then after, you put me on hold and you had Skinner on the other line who was having a bubble bath.”

      “Oh yeah, I remember.” She smiled mysteriously. “Come on, Scully, what? Tell me.”

      “I was having a bubble bath, too.”

      “You weren’t!”

      “I was!”

      “With Skinner?”

      “Mulder! No, you had both of us on the phone. I was in my own bathroom, in my own room, with my own bubble bath _and_ my own red wine.”

      “I have a confession to make too, Scully. I was in a bubble bath myself.”

 

Her eyes widened drastically and the next second, she was giggling and my heart was melting. I took her hand and planted a kiss on it. She looked at me, smiling and her eyes sparking. I checked my surroundings for familiar faces and when I couldn’t spot anyone we knew, I leaned to her and I cupped her jaw and kissed her. We were in some kind of a French restaurant after all. The whole place was bathed in the mood for a kiss to these luscious lips.

 

 _Hold up_  
_Hold on_  
_Don’t be scared_  
_You’ll never change what’s been and gone_

 _May your smile_  
_Shine on_  
_Don’t be scared_  
_Your destiny may keep you warm_

 _‘Cause all of the stars_  
_Are fading away_  
_Just try not to worry_  
_You’ll see them some day_  
_Take what you need_  
_And be on your way_  
_And stop crying your heart out_

 _Get up_  
_Come on_  
_Why’re you scared?_  
_You’ll never change_  
_What’s been and gone_

 _‘Cause all of the stars_  
_Are fading away_  
_Just try not to worry_  
_You’ll see them some day_  
_Take what you need_  
_And be on your way_  
_And stop crying your heart out_

 _‘Cause all of the stars_  
_Are fading away_  
_Just try not to worry_  
_You’ll see them some day_

 _Take what you need_  
_And be on your way_  
_And stop crying your heart out_

_We’re all of us stars_

_We’re fading away_  
_Just try not to worry_  
_You’ll see us some day_  
_Just take what you need_  
_And be on your way_  
_And stop crying your heart out_  
_Stop crying your heart out_  
_Stop crying your heart out_

 

In the cab that brought us back to our hotel, I wondered if Scully had heard the song (1) the way that I did. She hadn’t said anything, but she had taken my hand and squeezed it over my lap.

 

      “Thank you for the evening, Scully,” I said in front of her room, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I had a great night.”

      “Me too, Mulder.” She looked deeply at me and then she asked. “Do you want to come in?”

 

Before I could answer, she had tenderly taken my hand and was stepping backward, pulling me inside her room. Some decisions were more difficult to take despite their obvious appearance. This one was no exception. I had accepted my life the way it was, with its good and its bad, but I wasn’t ready for the ultimate spell that yet seemed inevitable (so far, at least) and I hated the idea of dragging Scully along with me in my fall. I knew that my death would crush her. But I couldn’t resist her smile, her voice; she was my siren and, as for now, I was the one being dragged. She had such a soothing effect on me, it was amazing. Better than any drugs I’d tried. And as soon as her tender lips touched mine, the blue feeling vanished to a much deeper sweet intoxication.

With delicacy and elegance, we slipped out of our clothes, piece by piece, like little white pebbles that pointed the way to the bed. Our kisses were sweet and feverish. I surrendered, imploring pleasure from her expert hands. Her mouth and hands traveled onto me according to my desire; onto my back, my buttocks, my thighs, and my prominent sex inside my boxer. I wasn’t stingy with her either.

I was behind her this time. I heard her moans and I moaned with her. Cadence, strength, power, heat invaded my whole body and mingled with hers. In this moment, we were one; our tangled bodies restlessly and sensually moving back and forth to one another, our perfumes and breaths mixing together. Our bodies tightened, feeling, touching, kissing, everywhere, inside, outside, pleasure, our pleasure. Again! Together. Crescendo. Burning desire. Pleasure. Fuck until the exhaustion of orgasm ran through us in unison. She let herself fall onto the bed all trembling and I fell close to her, snuggled up to her and hugged her, our hearts beating fast, very fast.

We looked at each other, we smiled, we said nothing, words were vain, the sparks of her blue eyes were enough for me …

I looked at the little golden cross around her neck and took it between my fingers.

If there was a God on this planet, he must have been love. And maybe love would be our salvation, our miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) My apologies because this song, Stop Crying Your Heart Out by Oasis, was really released in 2002.


	10. Smiley faces will never fade in the face of the heart

Except for my three sneak out weekends in Squamash, things were good between Scully and me. Except for the fact I updated my family’s headstone with my name on it, things were perfect.

I was in a fucking dead-end, feeling the end of the journey so close. I hated myself for that but I was so paralyzed I couldn’t bear to face Scully’s eyes and speak the unspeakable. And so I didn’t let on at all; it was easier than I thought to keep making jokes, keep making her laugh, to be who she thought I was rather than who I was becoming.

 

We joked about a doppelganger case where Scully was suddenly me, well aware of all possible and unexpected possibilities while I warned her, “Don’t go thinking I’m gonna start doing the autopsies.” I just felt like taking our time, the time I felt was slipping too fast between my fingers. I wanted to do things as insignificant as learn some in-your-face smack-down moves or take Scully out to an art exhibit that traced the influence of Soviet art on the American pop culture.

 

Hold on to time. Still time. Steal time. Just make a wish.

 

If one’s eyes could speak in a magical way when one watched the one they loved, powerfully affecting our most intimate feelings, there would be a magnetic fluid, a kind of halo, not visible but touching one’s deepest soul. I watched with pure delight and profound serenity Scully’s enthusiasm over the anticipation of scientific benefits that an invisible man could beget. Her happiness, her joy, her enthusiasm were beautiful to witness and our eyes lavished attention on one another. I knew what it meant to her and she knew I didn’t care if she wanted to not hang around with me but to stay at the morgue and keep her discovery safe. These were the kinds of stolen moments that I would forever hold on to, the easiness, the simplicity of our mutual understanding and the respect between us.

 

      “Uh, I think I should stay here with the body. I mean, I, you know, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave him unguarded. This is truly amazing,” she said in the autopsy room.

      “Okay,” I whispered with a knowing smile.

 

As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. As long as you keep that brilliant smile, coming straight from your heart, as long as you keep this smile right here on your face, I keep a smile on mine too.

 

      Unrolling the genie put a smile on my face, too, and I listened carefully to what she’d wish for. “I’d wish that I could live my life moment by moment, enjoying it for what it is instead of … instead of worrying about what it isn’t. I’d sit down somewhere with a great cup of coffee, and I’d watch the world go by.”

 

The genie kind of wrongly assumed I couldn’t hear her but I totally heard her. It was my stealing or stilling time wish. My warm blanket of hope.

I thought (after a failed catastrophic attempt) that the trick was to be specific, to make the wish perfect. But like Scully put it, “it sounds wonderful” but it would leave our lives blank with achievement meanings.

I invited her over. To live life moment by moment. To give meaning. To enjoy it for what is was. For what we had and nothing else. There was nothing more important than this. Scully and I spent the evening together and, to her own admission, she was _fairly happy_. That _is_ something, Scully. That is the world to me. I was _fairly_ happy too.

 

      “We could start sharing rooms,” as I said to Agent Short, the agent in charge of budget cutting audits. I wasn’t joking, we really could.

 

Truth was, I had no interest in budget matters, plus my head was beginning to ache. It was a waste of the time I didn’t have. Just a few days ago, I had been back to Squamash to put an end to this poor sin eater’s suffering, thereby definitely putting my second foot into my grave.

And then Billy Miles called and we were back right where it had all started, almost eight years ago. Bellefleur, Oregon.

Despite what these kids had gone through, they had gone on with their lives; Billy had been married and Theresa Nemman had had a child. Neither Scully nor I had much moved on from where our lives were in 1993.

 

But I saw how Scully melancholically looked at Theresa’s baby and I realized (in case I hadn’t realized it enough times before) everything that she had lost since she had started working with me. This baby had piercing blue eyes just like hers. He should have been hers. She should have been allowed to know that feeling of just carrying her own infant. It hit me like a sharp razor blade cutting through my veins.

When she came into my room, feeling sick and dizzy, it only confirmed what I feared and had refused to acknowledge till thus. I had to put an end to this. I put her in my bed, tightly wrapped under the blanket and hugged her body in my arms, nesting my face against hers, blowing warm breaths upon her dress shirt over her shoulder.

 

      “It’s not worth it, Scully.”

      “What?”

      “I want you to go home.”

      “Mulder, I’m gonna be fine.”

      “No, no, I’ve been thinking about it. Looking at you today holding that baby and knowing everything that’s been taken away from you … a chance for motherhood and your health … and that made me think that maybe they’re right.”

      “Who’s right?”

      “The FBI. Maybe what they say is true, but for all the wrong reasons. It’s the personal costs that are too high. There’s so much more you need to do with your life. There’s so much more than this. There has to be an end, Scully.” I kissed her cheek and held her as tight as I could as she softly cried in my arms.

 

This hug, Scully, was one of the most heartrending I ever shared with you. It broke my heart into a million pieces as much as it broke yours. I was dying, Scully. In every possible way. Would it have been easier if I had told you or if I had stepped away from you? Easier for who? For you? For me? Courage failed me in all case scenarios.

How would she have reacted if I’d broken the news to her now that I’d known for almost a year? I’d screwed it up. Big time. I shouldn’t have waited; the more I had, the more impossible it had become to say anything.

She’d be shocked and upset not only to learn that I was dying but also that I’d kept it from her for so long, and I wouldn’t blame her. How could she listen to me with good grace and understanding after one year of held-back ground-shaking information?

How would I even find the right place, the right moment, let alone the right words? In pain and solitude, I remembered all too well how, without warning I myself had been told this bleakest of outlooks, basically receiving a death sentence. I could never do that to Scully. I knew my death penalty would be hers as well. What would I add to my headstone? “ _I told you so_ ”? I felt a pit of dread in my stomach. Every time I’d gathered up enough courage to tell her, I was stopped by a vision of Scully’s reaction. I had imagined her aghast gaze, her low-pitched moan quickly growing to a horrible wail of distress as she dissolved on the floor.

I didn’t mind dying as much as I felt like crying and shouting against the cruel injustice of slaying Scully’s heart for which only I would be responsible. It was horrible to say but I had to find another way, a less soul-destroying way to disappear.

 

The two last times I held you in my arms, once in the woods after you’d fainted and once in the FBI hallway, both times hurt me more than I could have told you. Because I knew this Bellefleur case was my exit. I knew these were my last moments with you. I knew I would never see you again. I thought our kisses meant no taking back, Scully, but we were talking about not coming back.

 

      “Mulder, if any of this is true —”

      “If it is or if it isn’t, I want you to forget about it.” My chest ached deep behind my rib cage.

      “Forget about it?”

      “You’re not going back out there. I’m not gonna let you go back out there.” Even if I hadn’t been terminally ill, I felt like I could have died of broken heart right there from her words alone. It’s a real affliction, based on scientific facts that you love so much: broken heart syndrome leads to severe, short-term heart muscle failure.

      “What are you talking about?”

      “It has to end sometime. That time is now.” It took all my strength not to shake with pent-up emotion as my chest constricted.

      “Mulder, —”

      “You have to understand. They’re taking abductees. You’re an abductee. I’m not gonna risk … losing you.” Coward, coward, coward, my brain chided me, even as my heart was being ripped out of my chest.

 

You took two steps toward me and wrapped your arms around my neck, whispering you wouldn’t let me go alone. I closed my eyes with pain. Because I knew … I knew that whoever was coming with me, one way or another, alien ship or brain tumor, I was probably not coming back.

 

As soon I as could, I went to the men’s room and threw up the overflowing disgust of myself, begging for your forgiveness and understanding, hating myself and loving you so much. I wanted you again. Wanted the hope and peace you brought me each time. I wanted to come over one last time. Make love to you one last time. Grow from the bare minimal level of existence to its skyscraper upper floor within seconds. Rebirth. But how could I have seen you one ultimate time and not sweep you along as I suffocated from the insufferable?

 

And now that I stand beneath this ship, meeting what seems to be the end of my journey, I’m thinking of you, Scully.

People enter your life for a reason, for a season or a whole life. In some cases, the reason turns into a season which expends to a lifetime. In some other cases, these people become your friends and in _one_ rarer case, deeper feelings grow and the person who was just a friend is suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with. That sounds like something you could have said. Love doesn’t want nor wait; it takes its time and it lasts. A moment after the other. It took me decades to meet you and only a second to love you. If there is but one thing I did right in my life, it was to fall in love with you.

There’s a great white spotlight coming down from the ship over our heads, Scully, and all I can imagine is the big black hole that’s waiting for us. The answer that I so ardently searched for my whole life is finally set before my eyes as is the undeniable and imponderable truth that I will once again not be able to share with you and those who doubted our work. I wish I met the truth under different circumstances. What good is a discovery that can’t be shared? I wish I hadn’t needed to know the truth.

These last six months have been altogether the most painful and the most beautiful of my life and I wouldn’t trade any of the pain for a second in your arms. The memories rush back to me, right before my eyes, clean and clear as if it was yesterday, as if it was the end. The bliss of your kiss, a touch of red, a touch of blue, a touch of love. I lost myself to you and I wonder, Scully, if the secret of happiness is in the abolition of consciousness?

I have two regrets, though. The first one is that we never received the miracle we talked about, the one that would have made my disappearance more bearable for you. I desperately hope you can go on with your life even though I wasn’t able to give you this one last gift. And two, I’m sorry I hadn’t found the courage to meet your eyes and tell you I was dying, and I hope that you can forgive me for leaving you so abruptly.

But I want you to know that I am not scared, Scully. I feel that … I _want to believe_ that this is not the end, that we will meet again whether on this planet or another. Your smile will always be with me. My heart will never be broken. My love is infinite. Thank you for having shaken my life in a beautiful way.

Please be safe, Scully.

I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II: Seasons 8/9 from Scully's point of view on its way. Thanks for reading.


End file.
